


When It All Breaks Apart

by katmarajade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Getting Together, Hogwarts, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Teen Romance, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set completely during GoF and painstakingly canon compliant.  When Fred starts dating Angelina, George realizes he's not interested in girls.  He then meets Viktor Krum and begins a secret relationship. The twins don't react well to the idea that they might be more different than they ever thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It All Breaks Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Slashfest on LJ back in 2010. Thanks to Tree00faery for the great beta. All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Includes a LOT of 16-year-old twin angstiness, ridiculous swearing, and rambly George. 
> 
> Characters in sexual situations are OF AGE in their country of residence, though perhaps not everywhere. Use your best judgment. With a PG-13 rating, It's obviously not explicit.

They had been planning on tinkering with the Canary Cream formula that evening after supper. The texture was currently too clumpy for decent candy, plus the feathers kept coming out blue instead of the yellow they were going for, but George had been looking through an old herbal guide during History of Magic and had come up with the idea of adding amaranth stamen.

Fred had offered to go nick the ingredient from the potions cupboard while George helped Lee, who was having a difficult time controlling the _Aguamenti_ charm and had accidentally made it rain throughout the entire Charms corridor. That had been an hour and a half ago. It had only taken a few minutes of George's brilliant instruction before Lee had mastered the charm. They had then spent about fifteen minutes sending jets of water around the room, drenching the curtains and themselves in the process. 

Then Lee had run off to the library so that Fred and George would be able to brew in peace once Fred returned. Lee had learned over the years to avoid being in the room during experimental brewing, after one explosion that had turned his dreadlocks into neon pink flobberworms. 

Slightly worried that Fred had been caught by Filch or accosted by Nott and his groupies, who still hadn't forgiven them for a particularly brilliant practical joke the year before, George set off to find his twin. They were so closely connected that it rarely took long for either of them to find the other. However, George's worry faded when he found Fred snogging Angelina near the suits of armor. 

Fred wasn't in trouble. He didn't need help. He'd snuck off to have it off with one of their teammates.

And he'd lied to George about it.

Something hot and poisonous coursed through his blood and George felt the sudden urge to hex the both of them. Too many emotions flitted through his mind and he purposefully shoved them away. Stalking back to the dorm, he grabbed his Cleansweep and headed out towards the Quidditch pitch. He used the low traffic corridors and two secret passages that he and Fred had discovered through the years, thanks to the Marauders' Map and their own cleverness. He was not supposed to be out on the grounds at this hour, but he definitely couldn't be arsed to care about that. 

He managed to avoid running into anyone on the way out, though there was one near miss with Mrs. Norris near the Entrance Hall. Shoving off the ground, he shot into the air almost violently. He completed two laps around the pitch at breakneck speed before slowing down just enough to add in a few sharp turns and spins to let off steam. 

Fred was snogging Angelina. Angelina bloody Johnson. And he hadn't told George about it. George was not entirely sure what he was most upset about. That Fred was snogging some bint. That Fred had not told him that he was snogging someone. That Fred was snogging someone when he was supposed to be with George. Perhaps all those things. 

Executing a shaky turn on the protesting Cleansweep, he cursed his twin for messing everything up.

They were supposed to be the same, damn it. They were the Weasley Twins. FredandGeorge. GeorgeandFred. Gred. Forge. Now Fred was off being _just Fred_ with someone who was not George. And George had no idea how he was supposed to be _just George_ without Fred. He wasn't sure if he even _could._

George Weasley had spent the entirety of his sixteen years being a mirror image, one half of a perfect whole. He loved it. People raved about how sodding wonderful individuality was, but he had never quite understood their point. He supposed that they had to tell themselves that being unique was ace, because not everyone was lucky enough to be born with someone to complete them. George had Fred and it was the most brilliant, perfect thing in the entire world.

Rather, they were _supposed_ to be the same. But George sure as hell didn't want to snog Angelina. He really didn't. It was not until he saw his mirror image kissing her that he really understood that. He didn't want to. But Fred did.

They were supposed to be the same, but they weren't anymore. How could they be identical in every single way but so opposite on something as major as this? This was so much bigger than the tiny differences that they had had before. Fred really hated Aubergine Parmesan and George thought it was rather tasty. And George was always slightly better at Charms, while Fred had the tiniest edge over him when it came to Potions. But those things were so small, so inconsequential.

His Cleansweep shuddered a bit as he attempted a steep dive, but in his frustration he pressed forward. The angle proved to be a bit too much for his old broom though, and about four feet away from the earth, the Cleansweep jolted and he dropped heavily to the cold ground. 

The broom dropped to the ground near him, but George made no attempt to retrieve it. He stayed where he had fallen, spread eagle on the pitch, and slammed his arms repeatedly into the damp grass. Letting out a litany of foul words that would have had his mum hexing him with soap bubbles in his mouth, he vented his frustration to the empty autumn air. 

"Are you all right?" 

At the accented query, George shot upright, running a hand through his hair in embarrassment. He had not realized anyone would be out on the pitch at this hour, much less there to witness him get bucked off his own broom and then lie about on the grass muttering to himself like a mad man.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just a right shit day." George's words faded when he realized that Viktor Krum was standing in front of him. "What are you doing out here anyway?" He managed, silently berating himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Viktor Krum was on the sodding Quidditch Pitch holding a broom. It was quite obvious what he was doing. 

"I wanted to fly. Like you, I had a right shit day." George grinned as the Quidditch star echoed his earlier phrase in a heavily accented voice and Krum appeared a bit startled at the sudden transformation. George was well aware of the power of the Weasley twin smile and amped it up just a little, hoping to make up for his earlier lameness. 

"Well, the best remedy for shit days is flying. So, wanna race?" The words shot out of George's mouth before he had a chance to think that an international Quidditch star would have no desire to race against a demonstrably pathetic sixteen year old with a ten year old broom. 

He cringed a bit at his boldness and then promptly wondered where this sudden embarrassment and self-censure was coming from. He was used to the total lack of inhibition that he had with Fred. They were a team, a unit, one fucking mind and FredandGeorge _never_ got embarrassed about anything, no matter how ridiculous or humiliating the situation. He did not like how easily embarrassed _just George_ was. 

Krum just looked at him appraisingly and George cursed the uncomfortable, awkward feeling that welled up inside him. George vividly remembered the last time that he had seen Krum, up in the top box at the Quidditch World Cup. Though there was no way that Viktor Krum would remember him from something like that. Without two black eyes and a face full of blood, Krum looked quite a bit different. He seemed a little taller than George remembered, probably two or three inches taller than George himself. Though his build was slight and his shoulders stooped a bit, there was a bold confidence in the way that he held his Firebolt that was oddly reassuring and somehow appealing. 

"I will win," Krum said, dark eyebrows lifting high above his eyes. 

"Well, of course you will. You've got a bloody Firebolt. It'll still be fun though. And I don't fancy going back inside just yet, so I'm willing to suffer through the humiliating defeat." George offered another easy grin and reached his hand back, letting the old Cleansweep jump up into his grasp. 

They kicked off the ground and shot into the air. As if it felt bad about its earlier upset, George's broom behaved remarkably well. There was no way to keep pace with a Firebolt, of course, but it did all right. 

An hour later, covered in sweat and breathing hard, both boys landed heavily onto the pitch. George stumbled a bit as his Cleansweep bucked on landing, but managed not to fall on his arse. He shot another famous Weasley grin at Krum, trying not to think about how he was turning into an uncoordinated moron in the presence of a world-famous Quidditch star and how that thought was making his stomach churn funnily. 

Krum looked at him with a curiously blank expression, his dark hair sticking up in sweaty peaks on his forehead and one of his heavy eyebrows mussed. When Krum's face quirked into a hesitant smile, George felt a rush of heat course through him while his fingers tingled with chills and his stomach twisted in a wild and unfamiliar way. 

"I'm Viktor," stated the suddenly smiling Bulgarian plainly, as if George might have no idea who he had been flying with for the past hour. Luckily, George Weasley was an expert at keeping a cool head and he was impressed at how confident and even his voice sounded when he answered. 

"George Weasley. Pleasure." With a grin, George clasped Viktor's outstretched hand. "I hope beating my arse on a broomstick managed to brighten up an otherwise rotten day." 

Viktor smiled at him again, and George suddenly felt like he might be able to outrace Viktor's Firebolt without even the use of a broom. "Yes, I think it has helped very much. Maybe sometime we can race again and I will bring you my spare broom, so it is more fair. I will still win, of course, but then you cannot say it was only because of the Firebolt." 

The contained laughter in Viktor's teasing tone made George grin even wider. "Ah, you'll let me on a Firebolt then? I'd be a bit more worried if I were you. I'm wickedly talented, I'll have you know." 

"Oh, I noticed," Viktor smirked. "But you are still not as good as me." 

"Pride goeth before the fall…" George intoned solemnly, and there was a long moment of smirking silence before they both burst out laughing. 

"It was very nice to meet you, George." With one last smile and an almost shy looking wave, Viktor confidently swung a well-muscled leg over his broom and soared off towards the lake. George stood on the pitch for a long minute, heart racing and grin growing progressively larger. 

Who the hell cared what cow his brother was snogging. He just had a fucking fantastic fly and an actual how-do-you-do with Viktor bloody Krum. Letting out a whoop of excitement, George grabbed his finicky Cleansweep and started back towards Hogwarts at a full out run. 

*** *** 

Two days later, as George, Fred, and Lee were walking down to Potions, they passed a group of Slytherins and Durmstrang students milling about in the corridor. Lee craned his neck, trying to get a better view of Krum, who was scowling and hunched over a bit, leaning up against the stone wall. Fred made a joke about Slytherin welcome committees, which George laughed at automatically without really listening. 

George tried not to stare as they walked past, and, for the first time in his life, he hoped that the Slytherins wouldn't notice him and start in on their usual snide commentary on his family. Most days he welcomed their pathetic attempts, because it gave him free license to insult and jinx right back, but for some reason he didn't want Viktor to hear all their insults about him. 

"For an international superstar, he's kind of glowery, don't you think? It's bloody curious, if you ask me. Man's a genius on a broom, plays Quidditch for a living-- which is like the best job ever, makes loads of galleons, and probably gets his share of totally fit birds." Fred's commentary on Viktor snapped George out of his muddled thoughts. 

"Yeah, I wager it's brilliant." George responded half-heartedly, sparing another quick glance back at the sneering Slytherin squad and Viktor Krum, who appeared just as cool as Fred made him out to be, leaning casually against a stone wall in a dark red cloak and scowling at the world. 

Then Viktor's eyes seemed to catch his and for just the briefest of moments, the edges of Viktor's mouth twitched up in smile. George couldn't restrain the enormous grin that lit up his face, even when Viktor's scowl immediately slammed back into place as another red-cloaked Durmstrang student asked him something. 

"What's got you beaming like a nutter then, George?" Fred asked, bemused, as they made their way down the stone steps into the dungeon. 

"Oh, nothing, Fred. Just thought of a job even better than Quidditch. Quidditch stars might get the ladies, but when we've got our own joke shop, we're going to get all the laughs." 

Fred grinned at the mention of the joke shop they had been discussing off and on for the past couple years. "Right in one! All the laughs! And judging by the scowl on Krum's face, it looks like he could use a few good laughs. And some ladies. Does the man never smile?" 

George tried to hold in the grin from taking over his entire face, "Yeah, I reckon he does. Given proper incentive." 

They slipped into Potions under Snape's baleful glare and grabbed their usual table. George made an effort to refocus his attention from fancy Quidditch stars and onto the foul, greasy git of a Professor who was currently lecturing the class on the Draught of the Living Dead. After all, Potions was a damn useful skill for a joke shop owner. He only managed a modicum of success with that though, because every few minutes that momentary twitching smile of Viktor's would flash in his head. He wondered if it was bad form to hope that Viktor had a horrible day and would want to have a fly again soon. 

*** ***

"You're so lucky that you get to compete in the Triwizard tournament. Fred and I tried to get past the age line, but our aging potion didn't work." George sighed and fiddled with the pebbles on the ground. They had taken to hiding underneath the Quidditch stands when Viktor's fan club of shrieking girls wandered out to the pitch in search of him. The girls were camped out on the other side of the pitch, cozy in their blankets, waiting for Viktor to appear. 

"Yes, it is an honor that I am chosen for this." Viktor said solemnly, sifting his fingers through the pebbled ground next to George. George looked at him curiously. 

"You don't seem particularly excited about it. You don't need the money. You don't seem to want the fame or the glory. So why are you doing it?" 

Viktor did not respond for several minutes and George grew fidgety, wondering if he had offended his new friend. 

"You are right. I do not want those things. What I want is my father being proud of me. I do this, because these things mean much to him. I want to be a son my father can be proud of." 

"I'm sure he's very proud of you— you're brilliant and talented and you've achieved so much already. How could he not be proud?" 

Viktor snorted lightly at that. "He is not proud of me. I am a disappointment to my father. I am not the son he wanted me to be." 

George was not sure how to respond to that. He knew that he and Fred disappointed their father from time to time and drove the poor man around the twist most days, but he also knew without a glimmer of doubt that his father loved him fiercely and was proud of him and would be no matter what. 

"Who does he want you to be?" He asked, after several minutes of quiet. Viktor made a non-committal humming sound and took a while to form his response. 

"My father values power. Strength. Knowledge. He is a very strong man, knows many, many things. I have learned very much from him. We disagree on what to do with some knowledge though. You know that I have studied the Dark Arts. I know that is considered very bad here—evil. But I do not think that. I am glad that I have been taught these things, that I understand. My father and I fight often about…" Viktor waved a hand about trying to illustrate his point. "lines. Where is too far. What is too dark. What ancient arts should be used for." 

"Your father is a dark wizard?" George asked, voice laden with shock and a touch of wariness. 

"My father is not a bad man." Viktor stated vehemently. "He is not evil. He is not… so dark. I have seen dark wizards. Bad men. My grandfather was murdered by dark wizards. My father is not these things. I do not agree with my father on many things, but my father is not a bad man. Please, you must understand me." 

Viktor's words were insistent and betrayed his nerves, but he looked so serious, pleading for George to understand. So George nodded, mumbling words of agreement, and he wondered, not for the first time, why his opinion seemed to mean so much to someone like Viktor Krum. 

*** ***

It took three hours to get the charms right so that the fake wand looked more or less like Viktor's. George thought it was all worth it when the Bulgarian grabbed the wand, perfectly positioned by George, and tried to do a warming spell. The rubber haddock flopped in his hand and Viktor leapt backwards in shock, cursing loudly and looking wonderfully flustered. 

"What the hell was that?" Viktor groused moodily while George was nearly doubled over with laughter. 

"Fake wand! Aren't they brilliant?" George watched Viktor's cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment, and he realized that his heart was beating wildly, which he told himself was most likely from laughing too hard. 

"Yes. Brilliant. Stupid fish." Viktor continued to scowl and mutter Bulgarian curses under his breath, but he picked up the wand and was examining it with a sharp eye and apparent interest. "I bet it would make Poliakoff shriek like a little girl." 

"Take it," George said quickly, trying not to think about why his stomach was twisting strangely. "We've got more." 

*** ***

Ludo Bagman was still giving Fred and George the run around, and it was getting bloody frustrating. Fred threw the parchment onto the bed and hissed, 

"This is total bollocks. He owes us!" 

"Greedy tosser," agreed George bitterly. "Let's send that miserable, money-mongering wanker a box of chocolates, yeah?" 

Fred caught on immediately and his eyes lit up. "Ton-tongue toffees?" 

"I think that the Canary Creams are nearly ready too, but I would like to get at least one more supervised test in before we send them." 

"Better make sure they're fully functional before advertising them to the Ministry," mused Fred, absently toying with a fake wand. "So, what do you think? Hapless passersby in the common room? Slytherin table in the Great Hall?" 

"Actually, I've got a better target. Our little Hermione has been quite put out with all the Quidditch fan girls interfering with her precious library time. I say we send the Krum groupies a box of chocolates. They'll swoon and giggle and turn into birds. About time the library saw some decent entertainment." 

Fred looked at George curiously for a moment, but he agreed readily. "Best make sure the box is nice and prettified for the ladies. What do you think? Pink and lacy?" 

"Yeah, and add some hearts. I wonder if I can recreate some of that shite from Lockhart's Valentine's Day hoopla and hurl-fest." George waved his wand over the box that Fred had conjured while Fred dug out the canister of Canary Creams from the bottom of George's trunk, which they used as storage for most of their experimental products. 

*** ***

George got to do the honors, levitating the gaudy pink box onto the library table where a very irritated looking Viktor Krum sat, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling groupies. The box fell to the table in a gentle explosion of pink glitter, which George considered to be a very fine touch. Viktor eyed the box with obvious suspicion, but the fan girls clearly had no such qualms. They ripped into the hideously decorated box and squealed over the fancy looking candies it contained. 

Fred poked George in the arm with excitement and George grinned back at his twin. They smirked wickedly at each other over high pitched exclamations from the girls about how adorable and lovely Viktor was for getting them such a sweet gift. 

The girls greedily grabbed the sweets and popped them in their mouths, making appreciative noises, which the twins filed away as successful taste testing. Nothing happened for about ten seconds and Fred began to look a little nervous. Suddenly there was a huge puff of feathers and the screaming began in earnest. Three of the girls were completely covered in yellow feathers and molting furiously, flapping their now wing like arms about in horror. The other two clutched at their mouths, trying to scream over their now enormous tongues, which were protruding from their big mouths in a truly disgusting manner. 

George and Fred raised their hands simultaneously for a high five, never taking their eyes off of the experimental wonder in front of them. 

The screaming and sobbing brought Madam Pince running, but she clearly had no idea how to fix the situation and so settled for yelling at the girls about inappropriate library behavior. The Canary Creams wore off after about five minutes, leaving the three girls unscathed but hysterical and a blanket of yellow feathers all over the library floor. They fled in humiliation and George considered it a successful test run. 

The Ton-Tongue Toffees were taking a bit longer to wear off, even though Fred had spent quite a lot of time after the Dudley incident working on an automatic reversal charm after about five minutes. George started to worry a bit when the smaller girl started to gag, and clearly Viktor had a similar reaction. 

Scowl firmly in place, Viktor stood up and waved his wand decisively at her mouth, causing her tongue to shrink up and shoot back up into place like a retracting tape measure. He performed the same spell on the other girl, before turning to scan the shelves, eyes locking onto the spot where Fred and George lay in wait. Narrowed eyes told George that Viktor would definitely have something to say about this later on, but the slight twitch of his lips reassured him that Viktor found it funny as hell, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. 

*** *** 

"So, I think that those girls did not enjoy your pretty box of candies," Viktor said drily, lips quirking a bit as if he were holding off a laugh. 

"I don't know about that. They seemed to like them—thought the box was pretty, enjoyed the taste, and shrieked enthusiastically at the joke aspect. I consider it a successful test run." 

"Yes, success. I have had no crazy girls bother me in the library since then. So I also think it was a success." 

George grinned widely, strangely thrilled that the annoying girls would be leaving Viktor alone now. 

"The bird candy was good, but I think you must make some changes with the giant tongue candy." 

"Ton-tongue toffee," said George easily. Viktor stared at him strangely and did not even attempt the tongue twister of a name. 

"There is a charm that allows a person to breathe, even when their airway is blocked. But I think maybe you would not want to use that, because it has often been used by many dark wizards, usually during torture. Or another that limits size, so that the tongue could not grow too large. I think you might want to use this so that no one accidentally chokes. And I can show you the retraction charm I used in the library too, if you like." 

George frowned, "Yeah, we certainly don't want anyone actually getting hurt from our stuff—it's only meant as a laugh." 

"Good. I will show you these charms, and you will make your candy better, and then you will give some to me so that I can scare off loud girls in the library." 

"It's a wonder that the perpetual scowl on your face doesn't scare them off," George mused. Viktor sighed and nodded. 

"I know. I do not understand girls. Do they not understand that I want them to go away and leave me alone?" 

"Well, there are _some_ girls out there worth knowing. They aren't all insane banshees like the lot you're usually faced with." 

Viktor looked unimpressed. "Yes, there are some very nice girls out there who do not scream or bother me when I read." 

"Are you interested in any of them? You know, interested in any of the girls here?" George was a little shocked that he'd actually asked the question, but flashed a confident, cheeky grin when Viktor turned to look at him. Viktor assessed him for a long moment before responding. 

"No, I am not interested in any of the girls here. I am not so interested in girls." Viktor seemed to be watching him carefully, and George tried to appear unfazed, but his heart was racing. Still not entirely sure that Viktor meant what George thought he meant, George settled for, 

"Oh, erm, that's cool." George's ears felt slightly pink, which was really probably just the sun, and his skin felt prickly and sweaty, and the nervous twisting in his stomach was only exacerbated by Viktor's silent, intense stare. Whatever he was looking for, Viktor must have found though, because suddenly the intensity was gone, replaced by warmth and a quiet smile. That only made the twisting in George's belly even more pronounced. 

*** ***

They rarely talked about specifics regarding the Triwizard tournament. It was sort of an unspoken rule between them. So George had no idea what to expect when he and Fred traipsed up into the newly erected stands to watch the first task. He knew that Harry had been locked away in the library with Hermione for the last several weeks, ostensibly researching for the task or practicing or whatever it was that he needed to do. 

George was a bit irritated with his idiot younger brother for being so thick about the whole situation, but could somewhat understand the jealousy. It must be hard to live in the shadow of brothers as amazing as he and Fred, and then to be best mates with the Boy Who Lived on top of it all. Well, everyone is a bit daft at fourteen, he supposed. He and Fred had been trying to cheer Ron up by turning his hair green and making his Divination charts sing out ominous fake prophecy in an operatic soprano. The results were mixed. 

George and Fred had very different reactions to seeing the four, fire-bellowing dragons on the field. Fred whistled, clearly impressed and let out a loud, "wicked!" 

George, on the other hand, went silent and his stomach churned painfully. For some reason, the idea of Viktor facing down one of those fearsome creatures was disturbing him far more than it should. He mentally reminded himself that Viktor was up to the task; otherwise the Goblet of Fire would never have chosen him. George smiled at Fred, but a bit weaker than usual. Fred didn't seem to notice, as he was too distracted by the Chinese Fireball emitting a huge burst of flame and setting one of the handlers on fire. George noticed Charlie quickly dousing the handler with a powerful blast of Aguamenti. 

By the time Viktor appeared to face down the Chinese Fireball, George was on the edge of his seat. So was Fred, but for an entirely different reason. 

"Krum's a bit funny looking on ground, isn't he? I hope he's as quick on his feet as he is in the air, or this could go pear-shaped in a hurry!" Fred enthused, oblivious to George's half-hearted nods and grunts. 

The Fireball let out a piercing shriek, which made everyone in the audience flinch. George figured that Viktor would use a charm of some sort, because that seemed to be his strength, and he was soon proven right when Viktor slowly approached the dragon, moving silently, wand outstretched. When he moved, it was fast as lightning and George almost missed it, the yellow light of the curse shooting straight into the dragon's eyes. The scream she emitted made her earlier shriek sound like a whimper. 

The Fireball writhed in agony, blinded and furious. She trampled about the nest in an anguished rage, stomping on her own eggs in the process. Viktor shot forward, showing that, however awkward and ungainly he appeared, he was still a powerful athlete, quick, nimble, and graceful. Even with his speed and agility, he only just barely managed to grab the golden egg and dive out of the way of the Fireball's enormous stomping foot and wicked claws. 

Viktor was led away by a puffed up Karkaroff and fussed over by Madam Pomfrey, who could not seem to find much of anything wrong with him, but insisted on checking him over in spite of that. 

George sat in the stands, white-knuckled fingers clenching the railing, and listened to Fred rhapsodize about Krum's brilliant moves. He barely managed to nod in response. That had been the scariest, sexiest thing he had ever seen in his life. The images of Viktor darting between the massive dragon's legs, the deft movements, the powerful grace… His heart pounded, pumping adrenaline and arousal through his system. Wicked, indeed. 

*** ***

Gryffindor was in an uproar after Harry's spectacular bout of flying against the Horntail, but George was only partially swept up in the frenzy. He and Fred ducked down to the kitchens to score food for the party that was sure to be raging in the common room all night. He joked with the house elves and helped himself to a couple extra jam tarts. He and Fred jovially hoisted Harry into the air and were nearly deafened for their efforts by that blasted shrieking egg. He snuck Canary Creams onto the cream tarts platter and charmed Dean Thomas' banner so the drawings moved. But despite his outward Gryffindor pride and typical Weasley twin enthusiasm, his thoughts were decidedly elsewhere. 

Viktor Krum was messing with his head and it needed to stop. George was not entirely sure what was happening, what he was thinking, what he was feeling. What he was sure of, though, was this: He had to see Viktor—and soon. That, however, was going to require a plan, one more sneaky and stealthy than usual. 

Luckily there was nothing that motivated George Weasley more than devising a secret, brilliant, adventure-laden, rule-demolishing, death-defying, Howler-inspiring, adrenaline-pumping scheme. All right, death-defying might be a stretch, but one never knew what one might encounter on a late-night dash through Hogwarts grounds. There might be dragons or Snape or a really hacked off escapee from Hagrid's unorthodox menagerie. 

So while he laughed at Lee's bad jokes and helped Fred drape a large Gryffindor flag around Harry's shoulders, he started planning. 

*** ***

After the party died down enough to skive off without much notice, George spent an hour alone in the dorm (Fred had snuck off, as usual, with Angelina, and Lee was giving a play by play review of Harry's performance) charming a bit of parchment, using several spells he had gleaned from the Marauder's Map. His skills unfortunately were not quite up to par with the illustrious Marauders, but the voice-activated response charm was solid enough, and a few adjustments of his own made it quite satisfactory (and far more discreet than anything Fred could have conjured, if he did say so himself.) 

He folded the parchment into an aeroplane and sent it flying out the window towards the Durmstrang ship. He hoped that Viktor would decipher the message and show up behind the pumpkins at Hagrid's, a spot where they had met several times before. 

He wasn't entirely sure what he planned to do if Viktor did show up, but he was starting to get a pretty good idea. Watching Viktor almost kill himself dodging that dragon had made it quite plain to George that this friendship (or whatever the hell it was) that they had going on was something much different than anything he had ever experienced before. And that realization was more than a little shocking to him. 

Realizing that he had no desire to snog girls, even though Fred clearly did, was one thing. Realizing that he wanted to snog a boy was something entirely different. And quite scary, actually. He couldn't like blokes, after all, because Fred didn't. Fred liked girls and George and Fred were supposed to be the same. The idea that he and Fred could be so fundamentally different on something like this was more terrifying than anything else. Because, the truth was, George didn't want to be different than Fred. He quite liked that they were the same and this whole concept of growing up and turning into his own person was horrible and scary and not on at all. 

He was scared shiteless, but he was still George Weasley. He laughed in the face of fear—it was how he worked. And underneath all his worry and fear and panicked musing, one thing was very clear. One desire was beginning to overpower every other disjointed thought in his head. That was the extremely strong urge to shove Viktor Krum up against a wall and kiss him so thoroughly that the ubiquitous glower disappeared and the strong, stoic, scowling seeker melted beneath him and kissed him back so intensely that George forgot every crazy worry that ran through his head. 

He watched the parchment aeroplane float lazily through the air down towards the lake and wondered whether his strong attachment to staying completely identical to Fred in every way or his libido would come out on top in the end. 

*** *** 

The aeroplane returned to him, a bit wind-worn but reasonably intact, about an hour later. The charms were redone to respond to him and George couldn't help but be impressed that Viktor was able to identify and replicate them so quickly. The new message read simply 'midnight.'

The rush of feeling that swept through George when he read that completely disconcerted him. It was excitement and nerves and apprehension and glee all rolled into one emotional punch, and he thought it was rather brilliant. He faked sleep when Lee and Fred finally returned to the room and couldn't help but be a bit disappointed that Fred didn't notice or didn't care that he was faking. Fred could always tell, after all. The tosser was too wrapped up in Angelina's enormous flapping tits to be arsed to care about his own bleeding twin, which was just total bollocks, if you asked George. 

At half past eleven, George sat up and grabbed his wand, listening for the tell-tale snores from Fred and Lee's beds. He whispered an inflation spell on his duvet which gave his bed a vaguely occupied look. It wouldn't hold up, of course, if anyone looked too carefully, but it looked as if his roommates were out for the night, so George was not overly concerned. A muffling charm on his shoes let him sneak out of the room in near silence, pulling on a thick jumper once he was in the hallway and out of earshot. 

It wasn't until he was practically at the portrait hole that he realized that he had accidentally grabbed Fred's jumper so he had an oversized F on his front. He huffed out a sigh of annoyance, but decided that it wasn't worth the risk of sneaking back into his room for another one. 

He escaped a sound scolding from the Fat Lady, who was off drinking wine with her portrait girlfriends no doubt. She was still a little sore at him because of the time that George had inquired whether the wine in the portraits tasted like paint, and she would probably have shrieked out an alarm just to be contrary if she had caught him. He would have to make sure to get back into her good graces soon. It would be difficult enough sweet-talking his way back into Gryffindor Tower when he got back in. 

Years of practice having dodged and eluded Mrs. Norris served him well, as that damn cat seemed to be everywhere. But one secret passage and two trick staircases later, George snuck out of a rarely used gardener's exit that opened out towards the greenhouses. From there it was a relatively straight shot towards Hagrid's hut, which was dark and quiet, meaning that the gamekeeper was most likely asleep. Hagrid could sleep through a centaur stampede, so George straightened up a bit as he ran the last bit, ducking behind one of the enormous pumpkins. 

Viktor was already there, leaning calmly against another one of Hagrid's monstrous gourds. When George appeared, Viktor looked up and met George's eyes in a deep, penetrating stare. The corners of his mouth twitched in the almost smile that George had become so accustomed to over the past month, and George grinned in relief at seeing Viktor, safe and sound and smirking as usual. 

"So, dragons. That was intense." 

"Intense," repeated Viktor with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

"Yeah, that Fireball was a piece of work. Thought the bloody thing might just burn down the whole place and take us all out. Dangerous, hideous beast." 

Something about that made one corner of Viktor's mouth inch higher in what could almost be labeled an actual smile. "I am not hurt, George. She killed all her own babies, but I'm too fast for even a dragon." 

George snorted at that, "Yeah, well, you were actually pretty impressive." 

"I know," Viktor said cockily, but he looked very pleased and was watching George carefully. 

"So do you think that all of these tasks are going to nearly kill you off? Because I'm thinking that maybe I don't want you to, you know, get killed off in a dramatic and public fashion. Or at all, really." 

"I think that I will not be killed off so easily." 

"Well, good. You know, it would put a damper on the whole Triwizard Inter-school cooperation and spirit thing. Plus, your Quidditch team would be a joke without you, not the good, funny kind of joke either. So, you not being dead, definitely good." 

"You talk so much." 

"Oh, yeah, erm, I think I'm just used to having Fred around to balance me out, so…"

"I think this is not a bad thing, George," Viktor interrupted, that elusive smile of his flickering in and out of existence and distracting George completely from his previous line of chatter. 

"Oh, right. Well, yeah." George struggled to keep his expression calm and confident as he suddenly noticed that the two of them had somehow inched much closer together over the course of their conversation. Heart racing and palms sweating, he ran a hand nervously through his short red hair and tried not to stare at Viktor's mouth, which was still quirked into a smirk, almost bordering on an actual smile. 

"I am glad to hear that you want me to remain alive. That is good to know." Viktor gazed at George, eyes dark and hooded and dancing with anticipation. George had been on the receiving end of enough dares to recognize one when he saw it. The combination of Viktor's teasing stare and challenging smirk goaded him into action. 

Calling upon his trademark boldness and his Gryffindor courage, George lurched forward and grabbed a fistful of Viktor's cloak, yanking the smirking boy toward him. 

"Yeah, I really don't want you dead." George managed before slamming their lips gracelessly together. He clenched harder at the fur-lined Durmstrang cloak, pulling them closer together. His other hand snaked up and he wound his fingers roughly into Viktor's dark, wind-tousled hair. 

For a brief moment, Viktor's mouth stretched into an actual smile and George was awkwardly kissing teeth, but Viktor soon began moving his mouth over George's with toe-numbing urgency. One arm wrapped around George tightly and they pressed firmly against each other, the frosty November air forgotten in the heat of the kiss. 

Viktor brushed calloused fingertips gently across George's cheekbone while the other hand clutched at George's back with bruising force. He nipped at George's bottom lip before opening his mouth and letting his tongue venture out to flick teasingly at the crease of George's lips. George groaned and deepened the kiss, exploring the hot interior of Viktor's mouth and pulling at Viktor's thick hair to reposition him for even better access. 

As they melted further into the kiss, George released his grip on Viktor's hair and let his fingers wander. Viktor gasped as George's thumb brushed lightly against a particularly sensitive spot under his ear, and George found himself suddenly shoved up against a giant pumpkin, Viktor's body pressed firmly against his. Viktor's lips moved desperately against his, alternating fast and shallow kisses and little licks with long, deep pulls and sweeps of his tongue. 

George felt heat coiling in his belly before shooting out to his tingling fingers and toes. His heart pounded in his chest, the pulse echoing through him, and his mind slipped into a blissfully blank buzz of pure feeling. Every light scrape of Viktor's calloused fingertips felt magnified and every touch seemed to send heated flares crackling across his skin. 

The solid heat of Viktor pressing him against the nearly frozen pumpkin was dizzying, and his stomach twisted in a slow, satisfying flip as he pushed back against a lithe Seeker's body, relishing the strength and passion that Viktor was pouring into him. 

Every nerve ending he had was buzzing and George nearly whimpered as Viktor's tongue traced heated patterns against his lips and whispered against the roof of his mouth. Viktor sighed in response and suddenly the kiss dropped into slow motion, their tongues circling each other languidly, delighting in the sensations and lingering, fingers clenching at fabric, feeling the heat of impassioned skin just underneath. 

Finally with one last long press of lips, they broke apart, breathing heavily. George buried his flushed face in Viktor's neck, trying to catch his breath. He inhaled slowly, cinnamon, leather, and sweat percolating through his senses. 

"Bloody hell," He mumbled into Viktor's neck, finally pulling back to look at him. Viktor smiled broadly, no trace of his usual smirk or scowl present, and George was struck anew at just how attractive Viktor was when he wasn't glaring at people and his lips weren't mangled into a grimace and he wasn't hunched over, trying to hide from the world. Though, admittedly, George found the scowl pretty hot as well. 

"I have wanted to do that for a very long time now. Since the day I first saw you on the Quidditch Pitch and you jumped up so fast and smiled at me." 

"Well, who could blame you? I am ridiculously handsome, after all. And look at you with the smiling, Viktor! Word gets out that your mouth can actually do that and it might blow this whole dark, glowering image of yours right out of the water." 

"My mouth can do a lot of things." Viktor shot back, leering. George laughed appreciatively before yanking Viktor's face back to his own. 

*** ***

Snogging became seamlessly incorporated into their already established routine of flying and hiding from crazed Quidditch groupies. George considered this new routine to be ace. 

They could only manage to get together a couple times a week. George still hadn't told Fred about where he was going or what he was getting up to, which made sneaking out more complicated. 

Also, Viktor had little free time, as he devoted hours to training with Karkaroff for the second task and spent even more hours in the library, reading and revising. It was baffling to George how Viktor could spend so much time studying when he didn't even have to sit exams, being a Triwizard Champion, and there was no profit to be made. 

Viktor was adamant about his studies though, and George often caught him devouring long, dull looking tomes during lunch. Although, given the choice between making small talk with Slytherins or reading _Hogwarts, a History_ (Viktor's latest), George was pretty sure that he too would take the book. 

George started making more frequent trips to the library as well, and he was sure that he had checked out more books in those few weeks than during the entirety of his first five years at Hogwarts. 

Not only did he actually find some useful books (he found one about leprechaun gold fraud and one with a large section about color changing charms for food, which would be dead useful for some of the sweets he and Fred were developing), but it also gave him the perfect opportunity to make faces at Viktor (always a laugh) and to arrange their clandestine sneak outs. 

*** ***

George and Viktor were sitting in a shaded spot on the edge of the forest, cushioning and warming charms in place to protect them from the chill in the air and the frosted ground, when Viktor brought up the Yule Ball. 

"Are you going to this?" He asked, his voice pointedly blank. 

"A ball on Christmas? I hadn't even heard about it, but yeah, sure. Fred and I would never skip out on a good party." 

"Oh, yes. Is tradition and all, this Yule Ball. The Champions must bring partners and dance for the opening of the ball." 

"Oh-- oh! Erm, I don't think that…" George floundered a bit. 

"I am not asking you to go with me. I know that it is not the time for this, for us. But I must find a partner for this, and I do not know whom to take. The only two girls here from Durmstrang are going with Poliakoff and Petrov. I think maybe I will end up with some crazy Quidditch fan and this idea makes me feel ill." Viktor looked worried and a little forlorn, and George did not like seeing that expression on Viktor's usually confident, albeit glaring, face. 

"No worries. We'll find you someone good here at Hogwarts," George declared, leaning back against an enormous Scots Pine tree. "Someone good…" he mused, rifling through his brain for possible candidates. 

"Oh!" George shot back up, eyes flashing with excited inspiration. "Fuck a mandrake, I know the perfect person." 

"It is not actually a mandrake, is it?" Viktor appeared non-plussed at George's exclamation. 

"I am a genius. This may be one of my best plans ever!" George pronounced confidently, a self-satisfied grin spread across his face. Sometimes he was so brilliant he shocked even himself. 

*** ***

"Hermione!" George announced grandly as he plopped into the seat across from her at her quiet, corner table in the library. 

"George," Hermione responded, looking less than thrilled at the interruption. "What are you doing here? And where's Fred?" She craned her head around, as if Fred might be hiding in the stacks of books, waiting to jump out. The theory was not completely unsound, George thought. 

"How are you always able to tell us apart, Hermione? Truly, I've always wondered. Even our own mother has trouble. Yet you never even hesitate. It's quite impressive, truthfully." 

"Right. Genetically identical, yes, but you're both unique individuals with your own unique traits. You, George, have a tendency to cock your head to the side when you're trying to sound convincing. Fred bounces on the balls of his feet, whereas you go eerily still when you're focused on something. There's something just slightly different about your eyes too. I don't know how to describe it, but it's the way I always can tell you apart. And, seriously, what are you doing here? I'm busy and don't have time for another anti-S.P.E.W spiel or one of your ridiculous pranks." 

"On the contrary! I have a proposition for you, Hermione. And I want you to hear me out, because I promise that this is most definitely mutually beneficial." 

"The idea of helping you with something that might benefit you actually frightens me a bit," Hermione responded drily. 

"Yes, well, that's why I included the bit about listening, Granger. So hear me out. I promise to make it worth your while." 

"I've got sixteen inches of Arithmancy equations to finish, so you've got five minutes, George." Hermione folded her hands neatly in front of her and looked at him with an overly patronizing smile. 

"I've got a secret, Hermione, and I think I can trust you to keep it for me. Am I right in that assumption?" George made sure to give her his most sincere face, to make sure that she didn't write him off as joking. 

"You're serious?" Hermione seemed a bit thrown by his sudden sincerity, so maybe his sincere face was a little over the top. 

"Yes, actually. I have been known to have my serious moments. And this really is my biggest secret, well, apart from a few crazy ones with Fred that we'll take to our graves, of course. You see, I've been seeing someone recently, and it's been getting rather serious. But the thing is, we're not ready to tell anyone about us. No one knows. No one." 

"You haven't told Fred?" Hermione's eyebrows shot all the way into her bushy mess of hair. 

"No, actually. He doesn't know. Yet. He will, of course, but, erm, I haven't figured out how to tell him." 

"He's been off snogging Angelina Johnson on a daily basis and you think that he'll have an issue with your new girlfriend?" Hermione sounded skeptical. 

"Well, that's just it. You see, the person I'm involved with is," George spared a glance around, making sure that they were alone, even though he had complete confidence in his conversation muffling charms, "It's Viktor Krum." 

She stared at him blankly for several long moments. "You're dating Viktor Krum?" 

"Well, dating is a bit of a stretch—there are no dates involved. We just meet up in the evenings and go flying and talk and, more recently, snog." 

"I can't believe it! How did you even meet him?" Hermione sounded genuinely curious. "I mean, he's up here in the library all the time, but you certainly never come up here unless you're researching ways to cause even more mayhem than usual." 

"We were both out flying one night and… well, it's not terribly important. We just got on quite well and one thing led to another and, well, I'm not quite ready to tell people yet. And neither is he, actually. It's just a bit of a complicated situation, you know?" 

"I understand. I'm happy for you, George. I do understand if you're not ready to tell everyone just yet, but you do need to tell Fred—he'll be crushed if he finds it out from someone else. He's your twin and he loves you more than anything in the whole world." 

"Yes, yes, lots of fantastic twin love and bonding—I know. I will. I promise. But not just yet. Anyway, this is not just some crazy lark for a good confessional, Hermione. As I said, I've a proposition for you." 

"All right then. Let's have it." 

"On Christmas night there's going to be a Yule Ball." At her blank look he expanded, "Big ball, people in dress robes, dancing, drinks, fun times. Anyway, the Champions must all bring dates and Viktor doesn't know who to bring. He's a little nervous. And we're obviously not going together. And I thought that you would be perfect." 

"You must be joking." 

"For once, no. Listen. For one thing, I think you and Viktor will get on quite well—you've a lot in common, actually. No really! Did you know that he's just read _Hogwarts, a History_ —for fun! He's quite brilliant—dab hand at charms and defensive spells. And he's ace with languages. Did you know that he speaks Bulgarian, Russian, German, and French? He only just started learning English when he found out about the Triwizard Tournament about nine months ago. And you've seen him up here in the library—he loves this stuff. Book learning. I think he's a bit mental, but you two have that in common, see?" 

"Yes, I'm sure we'll be fast friends." Hermione sounded the exact opposite of convinced, her voice laced with doubt and a touch of irritation. 

"All right, also, in exchange I will shell out the sickle to join S.P.E.W.—so will Viktor! But as silent partners." Hermione made a sound of protest but he cut her off. "And I will take you down to the kitchens myself and introduce you to the Hogwarts house elves—give you the full scoop. You can talk to them to your heart's content. If _they_ decide to support your cause, then I will also more publicly support your crusade. All right?" 

Hermione looked torn, and George could tell that she desperately wanted to talk to the house elves and the idea of getting two more people on her list of S.P.E.W advocates was tempting. 

"If that doesn't convince, then let me just assure you that if you show up to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, you will make my brother jealous beyond your wildest dreams." 

"What are you on about?!" Hermione flushed bright red. 

"Oh come now, Granger—we all know that you're mad about my stupid git of a brother. Merlin knows why, but you are. So why not take this perfect opportunity to make him jealous. He's the most clueless wanker I've ever met and, I don't mean to be rude, but there's no way he'll have the bollocks or brains to ask you himself. You've got to make him notice you. And I guarantee that showing up to this ball on the arm of a world famous Quidditch player will definitely make him take notice." 

He could tell that he had almost convinced her, so he thought he should throw in a splash of guilt trip and appeal to her innate sense of helpfulness, loyalty, and justice. "Please help me, Hermione. I'm not ready to tell the world that I fancy a bloke. I knew that you'd understand. Please help us." He shot her his best pleading expression, wide eyes, tilted head, and all. He hoped it wasn't too over the top. 

It seemed to work though, because Hermione's expression softened, and he was suddenly struck by how pretty she looked when she wasn't harping about house elves and scowling at him about off color comments. His brother was crazy not to have noticed her yet, but he was reasonably sure that even Ron wasn't thick enough to miss something as dramatic as this. 

"Oh, all right then, George. But you have to promise to tell Fred very soon. And I want to meet Viktor before all this, so I know what I'm getting into. And I reserve the right to back out if he's a total nutter." 

"Excellent!" George grinned broadly and Hermione looked partly pleased and partly alarmed at what she had just agreed to. "So, let me know when you're done with that Arithmancy and we'll head down to the kitchens. Save room for some truly spectacular puddings!" With a wink, he released the silencing charm and scarpered off before she could change her mind. 

*** ***

"You look blue, Granger." George slid onto the step next to Hermione, who looked amazing in her periwinkle dress robes. 

"I'm not blue, George. Really." The puffy, red-rimmed eyes and uncharacteristic waver in Hermione's usually strong and bossy tone suggested otherwise. 

"Say the word and I'll charm your hair—which looks quite lovely and well-tamed, might I add—a nice shade of aquamarine, and then you will no longer be able to say that." 

He got a watery smile for his efforts. 

"Has your hot date got you down?" he asked. 

"Oh, no! Viktor's been wonderful, really! You were right about him, George. We really do have a lot in common and when he's not scowling, he's quite nice to look at. Good on you, by the way. I thought he was shy and quiet, but once he gets going, he could talk forever! Which on some is a bad trait, but his mind has so many fascinating things to say! We had this amazing conversation over dinner about the persecution of sentient magical creatures in Eastern Europe and the recent rise in dark arts related activities in that sector. Viktor thinks that dark arts activity is just under-reported in Britain, and I…" She blushed and trailed off. 

"Sorry, I'm rambling. But Viktor's been brilliant. He's so much more insightful and empathetic and passionate about things not related to Quidditch than I had thought. I admit I misjudged him. He's really quite wonderful, George. And he's been a perfect gentleman all evening." 

"Which means my giant prat of a baby brother is probably at fault for making a pretty girl cry at the ball." 

"He said I was 'fraternizing with the enemy!' and, oh, it was just horrible. He's left already, anyway." 

"Git. He's just jealous, you know. He'll come around," George assured her. Hermione shrugged, 

"Maybe." 

Spotting Viktor standing just off the dance floor holding two glasses of butterbeer and looking around in confusion, George pulled Hermione up from the steps. He pushed her towards Viktor, 

"Hot date waiting, you know. Best go claim him before someone else moves in. You know that you'll be held responsible if I end up hexing some horrid, flirty bint and causing extreme embarrassment and possible bodily harm. I'm thinking nasty pustules that spell out 'slag' and don't wear off for months! So you best be off and prevent all that mayhem." 

Hermione giggled and flashed him a grateful smile before rejoining Viktor. George slumped back down onto the stairs and watched them, Hermione laughing and Viktor bowing with that damn Slavic chivalry before spinning them off onto the dance floor again. He was jarred out of his moody reverie when Lee Jordan crashed into him, practically bursting with excitement. 

"You will never guess what I just walked in on!" Lee was bouncing with glee and sordid secrets and George decided to indulge him. 

"What?" 

"Your brother and Angelina!" 

"Yeah, not such major news, Jordan. They've been off snogging disgustingly in deserted corridors all term." 

"Oh, this was much, much more than snogging. Little Freddy's gotten his end away—he's one of the big boys now!" 

"You walked in on Fred shagging Angie?" George repeated, feeling like he'd just been stunned. Lee nodded in a strangely self-satisfied way, practically preening at knowing something about Fred before George did. 

Lee continued to regale him with details, most of which were probably made up knowing Lee and his love of embellishing, until he noticed how quiet George had gone. 

"Erm, all right then, George?" he asked hesitantly. 

"I'm out of here, Jordan. See you later." George waved his wand and vanished his unfinished glass of punch. With an absent nod to a worried looking Lee, he disappeared through the highly decorated doors of the Great Hall. 

*** ***

George wasn't sure where Lee had found his brother and that big-knockered tart bonking, and Fred certainly hadn't thought it important enough to share with him, so he avoided most of the common sneak-off-and-snog spots. He certainly didn't fancy happening upon the two of them. 

He wasn't entirely sure why he was so upset about Fred sleeping with his girlfriend. It probably had been in the works for a while, the two of them having been snogging vociferously (not to mention whatever else they got up to on their extremely indiscreet rendezvous) for months. It seemed like something that a bloke would tell his twin, though. It was sort of a big fucking deal and it hurt, just a bit, that Fred was off being _Just Fred_ and shagging his girlfriend without even bothering to fucking mention it to George. 

He spent several hours wandering the halls aimlessly before he encountered Peeves. They engaged in a ten-minute chase through the corridor, George hurling wads of chewing gum at Peeves. The poltergeist somehow conjured up of a tub of past-their-prime tomatoes, although from where, George hadn't the faintest idea. It made a truly revolting mess of the Transfiguration corridor, which cheered George up enough to finally venture back to Gryffindor tower. 

Even though it was extremely late when George returned to the room, Fred and Lee were still up, throwing Bertie Bott's beans at each other and giggling like stupid ickle firsties. 

"Where the hell have you been, Georgie?" Fred asked, bouncing off his bed and over to where George still stood in the doorway. "Guess what! I just had sex with Angelina! I shagged Angie!" 

Fred was practically vibrating with excitement, but George barely managed a bored expression. "Yeah, I heard. Bully for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I just had a rather messy encounter with Peeves and a basket of rotten tomatoes, and I fancy a shower." 

"Woah, George—what's got your knickers in a twist? Aren't you a little excited for me?" 

"For bonking Angie? Good on you, Freddie. I'm so damn proud of your sudden lack of virginity. Would you like me to organize a celebratory banner and fireworks show?" George's voice was laced with so much sarcasm that Fred looked taken aback. 

"Someone's in a rotten mood and I don't just mean those tomatoes. Fine then—go on and have your shower. Obviously, you're jealous. Thought you could manage a fucking smidgeon of excitement for your own bleeding twin, but clearly that's too much to ask. Go the fuck on then—you're stinking up the room." Fred stalked back to his bed and yanked the curtain shut, his ebullience having faded into annoyance. 

George avoided looking at Lee, who was staring at him curiously, and quickly left for the showers. 

*** *** 

Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere as Fred and George were wandering down of the more deserted halls of Hogwarts, in the middle of a hushed discussion about their next move regarding Bagman and his pathetic, cheating arse. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley. I wonder if I might have a quiet word with Mr. Weasley here," Professor Dumbledore asked mildly, gesturing at George. George racked his brain, trying to come up with a reason that he could possibly be in trouble that _wouldn't_ also involve Fred. Fred shot him a strange look, trying to figure out what was going on, but in an impressive display of self-control, said nothing. 

Dumbledore gallantly gestured George through a small corridor that George could not believe he had never noticed. They appeared through another door that George had never seen right next to the stone gargoyle marking the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Filing away this new passageway for reference, George followed the Headmaster up the spiraling staircase into an office full of spindly silver instruments. 

He had not been up there since he and Fred had been called in for a discussion on one of their more spectacular pranks during Fourth Year, which had resulted in some curious questioning, several lemon drops apiece, and a sparkling eyed rebuke not to involve first years in any sort of transfiguration in the future. 

"I imagine you find yourself curious why I've called you here." The Headmaster said, offering a small dish of licorice snaps. 

"Yes, sir. I'm also wondering why Fred's not here." 

"You two have been… inseparable during your time here. I do not think I had ever seen one of you without the other before this year. I have noticed, however, that over the course of this year, you've been entertaining new interests. Different interests. The portraits tell me that your brother has been often seen in the company of Miss Johnson, while you seem to have developed an urge to leave the castle alone on a regular basis." 

"Er, yes sir. But I haven't meant to cause trouble. Well, no more than usual and none at all involving leaving the castle." Being in the Headmaster's office alone was making George extremely nervous and he wished fervently that Fred were there with him. He was always stronger and braver with his twin next to him. 

"No, no. I am quite aware. You've been oddly well-behaved this year. Other than, of course, the unauthorized flying out on the Quidditch Pitch after curfew with our good friend from Durmstrang." 

George went a bit pale at that. "Yes sir, Viktor has been… helping me with my flying. Giving me tips and what have you." 

"Yes, of course. This tournament was designed to strengthen relations between our schools, after all. Such relationships are encouraged. I am glad to see that you are experiencing something for yourself for once. I must say that I have always envied the closeness you share with your twin brother—such a bond is extraordinary magic. However, I admit that I am encouraged that you are also finding a way to be your own man, different than Fred." 

"Er, yes sir." 

"You are still wondering why I called you here, of course. Well, the second task commences tomorrow and involves taking something from each of our four Champions, the person he or she would miss the most. You are aware that _you,_ Mr. Weasley, are the person that Mr. Krum would miss the most. When I realized this, I thought to discuss it with you first. I realize that your relationship is not general knowledge. I wanted to give you the option of declining this." 

"You want to use me as part of the second task? For Viktor?" George felt ill, his stomach churned and he silently cursed the second helping of Shepherd's Pie he'd eaten for lunch. 

"It is your choice, of course. I merely wanted to give you the option. I find myself relating to your situation only all too well, Mr. Weasley. I hid my own feelings and relationships for many years, not ready to make them public knowledge." 

"Excuse me, Professor, but are you saying you're bent?" George interrupted, boggling at the Headmaster. 

"If that is how they're referring to it these days." 

"I didn't know that." 

"Well, Mr. Weasley. In point of fact, I rarely discuss my personal relationships with students. I generally find it quite improper. I only offer this information to you, because I believe you might benefit from knowing it when making this decision. I can easily find another person that Mr. Krum would miss for this task, but I wanted to consult with you first." 

"Er, actually. I haven't, that is—no one knows about us. Well, almost no one. I'm not quite ready for that. But he took Hermione Granger to the Yule Ball and she's been sort of covering for us, so maybe you could use her instead?" 

George felt his cheeks tinge pink and was mildly shocked at that. He could not remember the last time he had blushed. The Weasley twins did not blush. There was no need. Nothing embarrassed them. Except, apparently, this. 

"Of course, Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger would make an excellent choice. Would you do me a favor, please, along with your brother of course who is anxiously waiting outside the office I believe? If you could please find Miss Granger and bring her and your younger brother to Professor McGonagall's office, I would appreciate it. She needs to inform them about the particulars of the second task." 

"Ron?" George asked, confused. 

"Yes, Mr. Weasley is the person that Mr. Potter would miss the most." Dumbledore smiled benignly at George, and, for a second, George wondered if Dumbledore really was omniscient like the rumors said. It seemed that he could see straight into George's soul and that idea terrified him more than a little. 

"Yes sir. We'll find them straight away. Hermione will be in the library, I expect. Er, thank you, sir. I appreciate it." George nodded his departure and dashed down the stairs, where Fred was waiting in the shadows across the hall. 

"What the hell was that all about?" Fred demanded immediately, his features a combination of indignation and curiosity. 

"Dumbledore wants us to track down Ron and Hermione for him. Something about the second task." 

"And?" 

"And that's it." George felt a pang at lying to his twin, but kept a straight face. 

"He could have done that himself. And why did he just want you and not both of us?" Fred was definitely not satisfied with George's answer. 

"How should I know? Dumbledore's gone a bit batty in his old age. I don't even pretend to understand him. Brilliant, but more than a bit mad, yeah?" With a shrug, George turned and made to start off toward the library. 

"I suppose." Fred tried to maintain a face of acceptance, but failed rather spectacularly. George could tell that Fred didn't believe him completely and could practically feel the uneasiness that was rolling off of his twin in waves. "George…"

George stopped and immediately looked back at Fred, a little unnerved by the extremely out of character hesitance in Fred's voice, "Yeah, Fred?" 

"You'd… You would tell me if there was something wrong, right? I mean, you'd tell me, right?" Fred looked so lost in that moment that it felt like a Hagrid-sized monster had punched George in the gut. 

"Yeah, Fred. Yeah, of course. We had best find ickle Ronniekins and Granger before they manage to get attacked by a giant snake or blow up the school or whatever else they always seem to manage to do when springtime rolls around." 

"Right. Time to collect our berk of a brother. Let's do it then." Fred's voice sounded overly cheerful and, with a sudden burst of determination (and maybe a small touch of guilt) George decided that he would tell Fred that night. 

Just as soon as they found Ron and Hermione, because George really didn't want to disobey a direct order from Dumbledore. The man was bloody scary after all. 

And maybe after he met up with Viktor, because it was quite bothersome to try to reschedule one of their rendezvous. Plus, George really needed to see for himself that Viktor was all right and properly de-fished. 

Perhaps, it wouldn't actually be _that_ night. But soon. Very soon. Guilt and worry warred in his belly, toying with his previous determination. After all, how was he supposed to tell his other half that, after nearly seventeen years of perfect sameness, they were not as completely identical as they had always thought? 

*** ***

"You look a hell of a lot better when you're not part shark, you know." 

"Shut up. It was a brilliant transfiguration and you know it." 

"Yeah, because I've always had this secret kink for marine life. You had me at dorsal fin…"

Viktor surged forward and kissed him, effectively vanishing every snappy, shark-related retort that George had collected. 

"So, I got to rescue Hermione. She is a lovely girl. Thanks for introducing us. You do know that she is definitely not the person that I would miss the most. You know that, don't you? I do not know how they choose these people, but when I went in the water, knowing that they had taken someone from us, I thought it would be you. Hermione is a very fine girl, please do not misunderstand, but you know that you are the only person I care about, the one person I would miss more than anything else in the world." 

"I know, Viktor. I know. But people would talk and, I dunno, but I just didn't think we were ready for such a hugely public outing like that. Dumbledore asked me, actually, but I told him to use Granger. She's a decent enough girl. I mean, total nutter, but I like her! Lots of spirit, you know? Even if she is obsessed with houselves." 

"So he did know? I was actually a bit surprised when I saw her down there. I thought it would be you. Stupid, yes, I know." 

"It's not stupid. Like I said, he asked me. Called me up into his office, alone. Bloody weird, to be honest. Fred was rather upset, and you know that that makes me a bit off as well. He's gay, you know, Dumbledore is. Told me so when we were up in his office—not in a pervy way like he making a move on me, just like solidarity or something. I swear that man knows everything. He's weird as fuck, but a good man. Anyway, it's my fault that they sent Granger. I mean, I thought it would be better. Not that I'm ashamed, just… oh, come on, Viktor. Help a bloke out, here." 

"It is all right, George. I understand. It is better this way. Although, it is probably better that Professor Karkaroff filled my head with horrible images of you being drowned and beaten by merfolk. This is what motivated me to study that stupid shark transfiguration spell, after all. You know that I am not so good with Transfiguration." Viktor quirked one dark eyebrow, and George felt his breath catch like it always did when Viktor gave him that look. And he knew he was completely lost. 

"It's not that I'm ashamed of you, Viktor. It's really not. I mean, you're fucking amazing, actually. But it's just not been the right time. And I really have to talk to Fred. I mean, I know that. I really do. And I will. Soon. Really. Things have been so totally off between us lately and I hate it and I'm not quite right without him and it makes me a bit stupider or madder than usual. Please don't be angry." 

"I know. You need not explain this, George. I truly do understand. And I hope that soon you will feel right about talking to Fred, because he should know. You are too closely connected to him, which is so good, but because of that he must know. You do not tell him, because you worry that this will change what is between you, separate you. But I do not think that this will happen, George. He loves you too much." 

"Of course he loves me. He's my sodding twin, after all. We're the exact same. I mean, apart from the whole Fred fancying Angelina's enormous heaving tits and me fancying hot Bulgarian Quidditch players with strong, muscular chests and hot as fuck, thrice-broken noses. Oh, shut it. I'll tell him. I mean, this is gone slightly past the stage of moony-eyed snogs and delusions of happily ever afters." 

"You think so?" Viktor inquired teasingly, a sly smile playing at his lips. 

"Well, I'm not saying we should pose for a cuddly photo call with Euro Quidditch Magazine or pick out bleeding china patterns together, but I mean, I think that there is… caring going on here. Wouldn't you say? I mean, I want you not to die in this madhouse of a tournament, I want to snog you pretty much at all times, I can differentiate between your many different glares and glowers and scowls and other various growly faces. And you know, you've got a lot, by the way." 

Viktor indulged him with an overstated scowl, but his dark eyes danced in amusement at George's rant. 

"Might make people wonder anyway, what a perpetually pissed off superstar is doing with such a handsome, cheerful, smiling bloke such as myself. Wouldn't want you to accidentally break down and smile in public or, worse, laugh!" 

*** ***

George didn't manage to pluck up enough courage to tell Fred until several weeks later, while they were walking back from Hogsmeade. Neither Fred nor George was particularly cheerful, because, due to that no-good swindler Bagman, they hadn't had any money to spend all day. 

"I think Lee's still got some of those pies his Mum sent yesterday. We could go nick a couple." 

"So, you and Angelina, how's that going?" George asked, ignoring the tempting pie suggestion and causing Fred to look at him sharply. George had avoided any discussion of Angelina since their blow out after the Yule Ball. 

"She's great," he offered. "Threw a Quaffle at my head last week when I hexed her ears—grew to the size of melons. It was brilliant. Made me appreciate the incredible aim the girl has all over again." 

"Yeah, she's a hell of a Chaser," George agreed before segueing gracelessly into the conversation he'd been dreading. 

"Anyway, there's something I've been meaning to tell you. And I should have told you sooner, but it's all just been so… well, I didn't. Thing is, Fred, I know that we've always been the same. And I know that you really fancy Angelina and all, but I don't." 

"Look, George, I know you don't like Angelina. You've been pretty easy to read on that lately." 

"It's not that I hate Angelina, Fred. Really, she's great. I mean to say, I'm not attracted to her." 

"Erm, good, I guess. I mean, I don't really want to share her." Fred laughed and George shook his head. 

"No, I'm not attracted to her. Or any other girls. I'm bent, Fred. Fancy blokes and all that." 

"No," insisted Fred, shaking his head in part confusion and part disagreement. "You can't be gay, George." 

"Erm, yeah, I tried to tell myself that too. Didn't work so well, obviously." 

"You can't be. You can't be, because I'm not. And if I'm not, then you're not. I mean, I have bugger all of an interest in, well, buggering." Fred paused, as if thinking it over. "Nope, none whatsoever." 

"I know," said George, trying to keep his voice calm, because Fred looked like he was going to have a fit or something. 

"I'm not gay!" 

"Right, I know. That's been well demonstrated this year, what with the constant ogling of Angie's tits and the shagging and all." 

"Right, exactly. But if you are… then I must… but I'm not… so you can't be…" Fred stuttered. 

"And here I didn't think there was anything in the world that could shock you," George deadpanned. 

"You've gone mad, George. This is total bollocks. I'm not bent. You're not bent." 

"Yeah, except for the part where I am." 

"No! This is some sort of ridiculous attempt to distract me from Angie, isn't it! You've been moody and jealous ever since I started up with her." Fred jabbed a finger at him and George gave him a look of utter disdain. 

"This has fuck all to do with Angelina. Bloody hell, Fred, come on! Now you're on with the crazy talk." 

"I'm not the one trying to turn us into completely different people here!" 

"No! That's not it at all. We're still the same. We always have been and always will be and there is not a single sodding thing that even Merlin himself could do to change that! You're being completely ridiculous!" 

"No, what's ridiculous is you taking a stab at individuality, you melodramatic tosser." 

"Oh, shut your gob about shit you don't understand! Who's the melodramatic tosser here, anyway? You're the one waving your arms and shouting total crap and purposely misunderstanding things." 

"Well, at least I…" Fred was cut off as Lee ran up between them, panting with exertion. 

"You two will not believe what I just saw!" Lee exclaimed excitedly in his 'I've got gossip' voice. 

"What did you see, Jordan?" replied Fred dully, his interest clearly less than piqued. 

"A dog reading a newspaper! A big, black, furry dog reading the bloody Daily Prophet! You wouldn't believe it!" 

Both George and Fred affected identical expressions of fake interest as Lee continued. Glancing between them, Lee sighed in the middle of his tale. Though Fred and George had not exactly been fighting during the last few months, things had been tense, especially since their argument at Christmas; Lee seemed to be stuck in the middle of it, always trying to smooth things over. 

"All right then, what do you say we have a game of Exploding Snap. I just got a big box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from Honeydukes and it says they've four new flavors, some of the most disgusting yet!" 

The twins half-heartedly agreed to follow Lee back to the Common Room, but George could tell that things were far from settled between them. 

*** *** 

The tense weeks that followed were the most difficult of George's life thus far. He and Fred still spoke, but it was nothing like it had always been. There were still classes and meals and they continued to play their usual roles in the common room, but outside of those assigned activities, they barely spoke. Their jokes faded to a trickle and their research stopped. 

Both of them snuck out more often, trying to spend extra time with Angelina and Viktor, as if that affection could help take the place of that unique twin bond that permeated every fiber of each of their beings. 

Their only real interaction was continuing to send Bagman a lot of pointless owls, because that cheatbag bugger was clearly never going to pay up, the both of them were out a year and a half of savings, and the whole deal was ripe as dragon shite. But it gave him a reason to talk to Fred without dealing with any of the _other_ shite and without backing down from this supposed high ground of his, and that made it somewhat more tolerable. 

*** ***

The sun shone brightly, though the air was still quite chilly, as George lay with his head in Viktor's lap on a thick flannel blanket near the Forbidden Forest. George had been out of sorts for weeks since his falling out with Fred and had become rather clingy whenever he and Viktor were alone together, always wanting to touch and be touched. 

It was clear that Viktor didn't mind the constant physical contact, but he was obviously worried about George. 

"It's our birthday today," said George quietly, holding one of Viktor's hands at his chest and running his thumb across the calluses. "My birthday. Our birthday. Whatever." 

Viktor said nothing, just stroked George's hair, knowing that George wasn't fishing for birthday wishes. 

"I thought, maybe, today at least we could be us, you know? Fred and George. I mean, we're of age now. We're fucking seventeen years old now and it's the most important birthday of our lives and we've talked about it and all the mayhem we would unleash on Hogwarts in celebration of this day, but now? Nothing. 

"He left this morning, went off with Angelina. It's just… it's just crap. Total crap. He doesn't even care." 

"I think that he cares much more than you think. I think perhaps he is sitting somewhere right now with this girl and saying very much the same thing as you are saying to me. I think he must miss you as much as you miss him. How could he not?" Viktor said, running his fingers through the short strands of red hair. 

"I am rather missable," conceded George with a small smile. Viktor's lips twitched in one of his almost smiles and he touched the corner of George's upturned mouth with a finger, followed by a light kiss. 

"Yes, very missable," murmured Viktor as he kissed slowly along George's jawline. 

"So, you would miss me if I weren't here?" George asked playfully. 

Viktor looked at him solemnly for a long moment before saying quietly, "more than you could ever know." 

"You're such a romantic, Viktor, always saying that crap. No, wait! It's cute. I like it!" George tried to pull an affronted Viktor back to him, apologizing with a sloppy kiss. 

"I am not _cute_ ," muttered Viktor, flipping over with cat-like grace and covering George's body with his own. George laughed as Viktor clamped down on his arms, trapping him. 

"Fine, absolutely no cuteness or sweetness happening here. You're brilliant and sexy and wicked on a broom and I am in awe of your hotness and you win, et cetera, et cetera. Happy now?" 

"Yes, I am happy," allowed Viktor, smirking down at George who was starting to feel a bit flushed with six feet of Quidditch-toned muscle pressing down against him. 

"Excellent, then I think you should be sharing the happy and snogging me right now—it is my birthday, you know. I deserve special treatment," George teased, sneaking his hands out as Viktor loosened his grasp and wrapping them around Viktor's waist, pulling him even closer. 

"Special treatment, you say?" murmured Viktor as he kissed George's freckled jawline and down his neck. "I am thinking this can be arranged." His accent was thicker than usual, his voice huskier, and each word was punctuated by a wet kiss against George's skin. 

George's grin dissolved into a groan as Viktor continued to make his way down George's chest, and he found himself forgetting why he had ever thought this birthday was anything other than fucking brilliant. 

*** ***

They slumped bonelessly back and sat there for several minutes in silence, wrapped up in each other and trying to catch their breath and reveling in that first-time bliss and wonder and confusion. George knew somewhere in his mind that everything would be different now, that he was different now. But he couldn't seem to focus on those sorts of serious, philosophical thoughts when his brain was screaming, _you had sex, you had sex, you had sex!_ with an extra strength _sonorous_ charm added on. 

Viktor's face was buried in the sweaty curve of George's neck and he could feel Viktor's muggy breath against his skin. When Viktor finally pulled away to look George in the eye, his dark eyes were full of something that George couldn't even name. His eyes looked _old_ in that moment and it was oddly disconcerting and George immediately resorted to his tried and true fallback plan of joking. 

"You look so serious. I wasn't that bad, was I? I mean, I don't have a large frame of reference or anything, but I'm pretty sure that fell underneath the category of 'Holy bleeding shite that was brilliant!' if I do say so myself. Which I do, by the way. You seemed to enjoy yourself anyway." 

"You know that I enjoyed it, George. You also know that I care for you very much. I care and it hurts my heart sometimes when I look at you, because to me you are the most beautiful and precious thing." 

George rolled his eyes, "Pssh, you crazy Bulgarians and your poetic nonsense. I mean, yeah, I know I'm pretty damn fantastic, incredibly gorgeous, and a spectacular shag to boot, but you don't need to get all flowery on me. Too much more of this touching emotional stuff and I might pop out a pair of tits." 

Viktor sighed and looked away for a moment, silently running his broom-calloused fingers across George's upper arm. "You joke about this, because it frightens you to feel this way. You think it's nonsense, but I believe in truth. Truth in words and actions. For me, this is not nonsense. It's truth. It's real. But I know, George. I understand that you are not ready for it to be true for you. I knew this before and I know it now. Is okay." 

George frowned, "What do you mean I'm not ready. I'm here, aren't I? And we just… I'm ready." He paused for a long moment before adding, "erm, ready for what, exactly?" 

Viktor grinned at him, his melancholy pushed aside for the moment. "Is not important. For now this is enough. You and me, right here, together. For me, this is real and it is enough." 

"Bloody hell, Viktor. You sure do get maudlin after you get off. Everything is always truth and importance and serious with you. Truth is all well and good, but where's the fun and mad rush of excitement in all that? We've got that, you and I. And sometimes I think you don't notice. That you're too wrapped up in your serious Viktor world and don't see all the good stuff that's right here in front of you." 

Viktor was silent for several minutes and George wondered if he had finally pushed him too far. The look on Viktor's face when he finally looked up though made George's stomach twist uncomfortably. 

"Yes, this is fun. This is good. This is exciting. I know that and I like that, but to me this is more than just fun and games. It is good, yes, but it is so very much more than good. I don't know how to say these things sometimes and I think sometimes you do not understand what I mean. Perhaps it is better that you do not. Let us talk about something else, yes? Something fun and mad and exciting like you said." 

George considered Viktor for a moment, still not quite sure what he was getting at but unwilling to admit that. "Yeah, all right then. So, does the rocking motion of that floating dormitory ship of yours help when you wank? 'Cause I've been wondering about that." 

Viktor laughed and all the traces of his introspection and worry were erased for the time being. George, who was inordinately proud of his ability to make the usually solemn Viktor Krum laugh so uninhibitedly, made a mental note to keep doing whatever it took to keep Viktor smiling like that. He was just too damn pretty to look so bloody serious all the time. 

*** ***

The next day George found himself wandering aimlessly through one of the lesser-used corridors of the first floor. This… whatever it was with Fred had come to a head, because George simply couldn't take it anymore. It had been weeks of time apart, entertaining separate interests (which was crap as the only non-coinciding interests they _had_ were shagging Angelina and Viktor) and disturbingly civil interaction. He missed his twin and this holding a grudge thing was clearly not working for them. 

Someone had tracked in a truly impressive amount of dirt and tiny rocks, which would give old Filch heart failure for sure when discovered. The thought of Filch all red-faced and ranting with that thrice-damned, mangy Mrs. Norris spitting prissily in the background cheered him slightly. He kicked a few pebbles around, doing his part to make the mess even bigger. 

It was in the middle of a particularly solid kick, which sent a stone skipping a good fifty feet down the hall, that George was hit by a sudden blast of nauseating panic. Fred was in trouble. George's lungs felt devoid of air as he spun wildly around and sprinted down the corridor, blindly following his twin-honed gut feeling to find Fred. Drawing his wand as he ran, he hurtled down a flight of stairs, just barely making it off the last step before the magical staircase started twisting away. 

He nearly tripped over Angelina's prone form. He paused only long enough to note that she was stunned but breathing and kept going, hearing voices just around the corner. 

Flying around the corner, the first thing he noticed was Viktor and Poliakoff shouting at each other in furious Russian, wands out. George didn't have to understand the language to know that the words were part of a vicious argument and probably even fouler than usual. George spotted Fred slumped in a corner, clutching at his wrist. Another one of Viktor's Durmstrang cronies stood menacingly over him. Fred looked like he'd been hexed several times and possibly punched, judging from the bruises already sprouting on his face, but his eyes were flashing fire, so he was still fighting, though clearly they'd taken his wand. 

With a practically inhuman growl, George leapt between Fred and his attackers. Viktor and Poliakoff looked up in surprise at the sudden intrusion and all three of the Durmstrang students looked instantly wary. Viktor looked at him with a strange expression of sadness, but George could not spare a second of his brain power to decipher what that meant. He was furious. 

As he stood over Fred in a protective crouch, he could feel every ounce of his not inconsiderable store of magic rising to the surface. Fred reached up and grabbed his non-wand hand. With the added boost from Fred and the pure unadulterated rage on his face, George Weasley looked more dangerous than anyone ever would have fathomed possible, a very far cry from the usually jovial jokester. 

The tip of his wand sparked warningly and the other two Durmstrang students looked furtively between Viktor and the frightening sight of the pissed off Weasley twins and ran. Viktor stepped toward George, holding his hands up in an entreating gesture. George pointed his wand straight at the man, who had only just last night made love to him and had told him that he was the most precious thing on the planet. 

"Get away from my brother," George growled, barely able to see straight through the haze of his anger. 

"George, please. You know that I would never do _anything_ to hurt Fred. You know this. Hurting him would hurt you and I would never, ever do that. Please, George, I…"

George cut off Viktor's pleas with a sharp jab of his wand, and Viktor's eyes grew darker as he realized that George had cast a silencing spell on him. Viktor released the spell with a mere wave of his hand, but did not speak other than to quietly say George's name one more time. Viktor's face held no trace of his trademark scowl as he stared heavily at George, his eyes full of resignation. 

He looked absolutely heartbroken, and that, more than any words he could have spoken, gave George a moment's pause. Viktor looked minutely hopeful at the slight softening of George's expression, but then Fred squeezed George's hand again and he was reminded again of what had just happened and that his twin was _hurting_ because of them. 

Everything had been leading up to this point for months. George knew that the time had finally come that he had to choose, no matter how much he didn't want to make the choice. He also knew with heart-aching certainty that he could never choose anyone over Fred, no matter how much he cared about them. Viktor sighed as George's faced closed off, and, with one last sad look, he walked slowly away, his shoulders seeming even more stooped than usual. 

As soon as Viktor rounded the corner, George spun around and dropped to the floor. He wrapped his twin in a crushing embrace until Fred poked him in the ribs and made him loosen his grip. 

"Nice of you to show up, Georgie." 

"What happened? I could feel it. I was just walking around and bam, I felt sick and I knew you were in trouble and I ran and you were… oh, crap, Angelina!" 

Fred looked like he had momentarily forgotten about his girlfriend as well, "Merlin's manky beard, I totally forgot! Is she okay? Where is she?" 

"They stunned her. She's just around the corner. I almost tripped over her when I was running over here. She was breathing steadily enough and looked the right color, so I'm sure she's fine. Nothing a bit of enervate can't fix," George quickly assured his twin, feeling that odd empty feeling come creeping back up and expecting Fred to immediately go check on his girlfriend. But Fred didn't move except to fling his good arm around George's shoulders. 

"I've missed you, you wanker." 

"Yeah, me too. I'm rather missable, you know." George neatly dodged as Fred laughed and swatted at his head. "We're still the same, you know." George stared at Fred as if begging him to agree. 

"I know. We're exactly the same. Remember what mum told us we were little? That when we popped into existence, we were so amazing and brilliant that our perfection couldn't be contained in just one individual, so the universe split us in two. But we're still two parts of one whole, George. Always have been, always will be. Nothing, not birds, not blokes, not anyone or anything can change that. You and me. We're so much more than what sort of bits we fancy. But speaking of fanciable bits, I should probably go check on Angie's lovely but unconscious arse." 

"Yeah, probably," George and Fred clung to each other for another few seconds and George felt like all the madness and everything that had been pulled apart had in that moment been magically put back together. As long as he had Fred and Fred had him and they were still the same and together for always, well, everything else was icing on an already perfect cake, wasn't it? 

*** ***

Viktor spent the next two weeks making attempts to talk to George, but George would have none of it. Parchment aeroplanes were floating next to his head every morning when he woke up, but he binned them without reading. Viktor tried to pull him aside, even going as far as talking to him in public, which they never had done. 

The constant badgering only strengthened George's resolve, and he continued to ignore Viktor's increasingly desperate efforts. 

Hard as he tried to keep a stiff upper lip, George couldn't help but notice that Viktor looked miserable, even skinnier than usual and his shoulders even more slumped. He looked as if he wasn't sleeping well, and the purple smudges under his dark eyes became more pronounced each day. His face was fixed in a permanent scowl, and the playful smirk that had so often lurked behind his glares had faded. 

Seeing Viktor like that made George's chest feel cold and hollow; it hurt, seeing his own pain mirrored on a non-identical face, so George made every effort to avoid seeing him. 

Fred only asked him about it once, when he realized that Viktor was the person George had been sneaking off to see for the past five months. George confirmed Fred's suspicions that he and Viktor had been together, but, despite Fred's prodding, he adamantly refused to talk about it any further. In a rare display of tact, Fred finally dropped it. 

Viktor eventually gave up his efforts after Easter holidays, and there were no more parchment aeroplanes by his bed, no more entreating looks, no more hearing Viktor say his name in that thick accent. George wasn't sure whether he was relieved or saddened by the sudden respite. 

Viktor apparently began spending a lot more time with Hermione, ostensibly up in the library, though George refused to go up there anymore, so he couldn't be certain. From what he could piece together from other people's comments, Viktor and Hermione often sat together, talking quietly and glaring at intruders. It was around that time that the ridiculously fabricated Harry-Viktor-Hermione love triangle gossip began running rampant through the halls of Hogwarts (and apparently the rest of the Wizarding world), and Hermione seemed to be in a foul mood whenever George saw her. 

She did make one effort to talk to him, extricating him from a raucous game of Exploding Snap that he, Fred, Lee, and Alicia were playing in the common room. With usual Hermione directness, she told him just how brokenhearted and despondent Viktor was and how George was being completely unreasonable and how he should talk to Viktor and resolve all of it. 

Their conversation was much shorter than she would have liked, but George was rather proud of himself for letting her prattle on as long as he had. He did owe her, after all. Not to mention, Hermione Granger with a cause was a fucking scary phenomenon and he had no great desire to get on her bad side. Plus, deep down, he knew she was right. But it still didn't change anything. 

*** ***

George became quite adept at pretending that his heart wasn't aching over the next couple weeks. And he managed to keep up the pretense up until about thirty minutes into the third task when he saw Flitwick levitating Viktor's unconscious body out of the maze. 

George must have started shaking noticeably, because suddenly Fred was holding his hand just like he always had when they were small. Tossing out some silly excuse to their mum and siblings, Fred dragged George down the rickety stairs to the relative quiet underneath the stands, where they had a clear view of Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall reviving Viktor. 

George breathed a sigh of relief when Viktor sat up, looking pale and disoriented. Suddenly a look of horror came over Viktor's face, draining his already ashen face of all remaining color. Viktor shook his head and muttered something over and over in Bulgarian that George couldn't understand. Then, eyes suddenly widening, Viktor pitched to the side and vomited. 

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Karkaroff stood a few feet away, discussing the situation in hushed tones, while Madam Pomfrey clucked over Viktor. Neither Fred nor George could make out much of what they were saying, but they caught several mentions of Unforgivable Curses. 

Viktor had curled up into himself, hugging his long legs, rocking slightly, and muttering to himself in Bulgarian. Every few minutes he would unfold himself to vomit again. He was clearly in shock. Madam Pomfrey finally conjured a stretcher and began levitating Viktor back to the castle. 

George did not even realize that he was hugging himself and making an odd sort of breathless whimpering noise until he felt Fred's familiar arms wrap around him and heard soothing shushing noises. Fred hadn't done that since they were small children and George used to have recurring nightmares. 

George clung to Fred, feeling as small as he had back in those nightmare days, and stared at Viktor's retreating form. He was extraordinarily grateful that Fred had dragged him down here, because he would have been horrified if anyone but Fred had seen the pathetic, wibbling mess he had turned into. 

"George," Fred paused, "Maybe you should… maybe you should go to him." Fred's voice sounded worried and hesitant, but when George said nothing in response, he soldiered on. 

"I mean, you obviously care about the bloke a lot and he looks like he's pretty messed up… I mean, I don't know what exactly happened between you two, because you've not been too keen on talking about it, but… it hurts me to see you hurt like this, Georgie and you've been hurting for months." 

"It's past now. Doesn't do any good to dwell on it. I made my choice, Fred. Yes, I cared about him—a lot. I mean, I never… But I love you more. And that's what it comes down to, isn't it? I had to choose, didn't I? Viktor or you. And I chose you. I will _always_ choose you. I hurt without him. It really fucking hurts. But I can't live without you, Fred." 

Emotions played over Fred's face in a dance of confusion. "You don't… I mean, is that what all of this is about then? All year you've been a right prick to Angelina, because you think somehow I was choosing her over you? That's… that's not even possible, George. I could never ever choose anyone else over you. You are and always will be the most important person in my life—you're me. I mean, we're two of the same whole, you know? I don't think either of us can ever really be complete without the other one." Fred reached out and poked at his twin until George met his eye. 

"There's no choice, Georgie. I don't want you to choose. If you want him, then fucking be with him. That's not choosing him over me. It's not a one or the other sort of deal. And it seems like he must really care about you too, so that makes him good in my book. Plus, you should know that he stepped in and stopped those Durmstrang prats from hexing me." 

"He was stopping Poliakoff and Petrov?" 

"Yeah, those two caught me and Angelina snogging and went mental! Stunned Angie and punched me and kept ranting about me being some sort of cheating bastard. I had no idea what they were on about at the time, but it made a bit more sense later on, once I knew that you and Krum were," Fred waved a hand vaguely, "you know. And I realized that they probably thought that I was you and that I was cheating on their friend. So, all in all, I give them points for loyalty and enthusiasm, but demerits for brains and critical thinking. Probably should have said that earlier, but… I don't know, I didn't get what was happening at first and then I was just so bloody glad that we were talking again and you were so ridiculously _do not speak of it!_ about the whole thing and I didn't really realize that I should have pressed it until later on…" 

"Well, that actually makes a good bit of sense. I kind of knew that Viktor would never curse you, but I was so bloody irate, and, at the time, it felt a lot like I had to choose one or the other of you. And we were finally all right and I didn't want to bollocks that up, yet again. Then later, well, it was all just… and I was…"

"You were a stubborn arse," Fred interjected. 

"Sounds like me," agreed George with a wry smile. "You really think I should try to talk to him?" 

"The poor boy looked like he just got his arse kicked by a Blast-Ended Skrewt. He could do with some comfort," Fred smirked at him. 

"And you're okay with this?" 

"Yes, you whinge-a-lot tosser! I am okay with _you._ And if he's what you want or is good for you or whatever the fuck you want to call it, I'm okay with _him._ You don't need to make overdramatic gestures to prove that I am the most fabulous person ever in your world. I already know that. So go comfort flyboy in his time of desperate need and stop worrying so much. You're going to make us look old." 

George grinned at his twin, feeling as though every burden he'd ever carried had been lifted away. Everything in his life aligned in that moment and George felt as if everything were absolutely perfect. 

Then Harry Potter reappeared a mere thirty feet away from them, sobbing and clutching the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory and babbling to Dumbledore that You-Know-Who was back from the dead. And George knew, with a cold certainty from somewhere deep in his soul, that things would never be perfect again. 

*** ***

It was many hours later before George got the chance to find Viktor. The whole damn world had apparently gone topsy-turvy in a matter of a few hours. You-Know-Who was back and as evil and horrid as ever, Cedric Diggory had been murdered, their favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts professor turned out to be a Polyjuiced Death Eater, Sirius Black was not in fact a mass murderering nark, Fudge was a twat-faced imbecile with a serious case of denial, and George Weasley had finally realized that he was in love. 

All in all, a bit of a strange day. 

Having finally escaped his very weepy mother, (who had been clutching any of her available children to her for long, drawn out cuddles at constant intervals every since she returned from the hospital wing) George made his way through the eerily quiet corridors. 

He chanced a quick look into the main room of the hospital wing and was relieved to see that Madam Pomfrey was apparently in her office. 

A large black dog, that he now knew to be Sirius Black, sat at the edge of one of the beds, and George could only assume Harry was behind that curtain. Sirius flicked his tail and gave George one bored, disinterested glance before returning to his vigil of intense staring. 

Hermione had made a comment about the real Mad-Eye Moody being in the bed next to Harry's, so George decided to go for Curtain Number Three. Moving quickly, lest Pomfrey return and ply him with Skele-Gro or something equally sadistic, he slipped past the curtain, drawing it tightly closed him behind him. 

His deductive skills were ace, as usual, and lying in a hospital bed, clearly far too tiny for his long limbs, was Viktor. He was sleeping restlessly and looked too pale. 

George moved closer, reaching out a hand to touch Viktor's forehead, but drew back at the last second. He was hit by the sudden realization that maybe he shouldn't be standing there. Maybe Viktor would be angry that George had shown up after nearly two months of damn near shunning him. 

But then Viktor whimpered in his sleep, twitching from what was clearly a nightmare, and George found that none of it mattered. He brushed a hand across Viktor's face, making a quiet shushing sound. Viktor jolted awake at the contact but remained silent, breathing hard and staring at George as if he were still part of the dream. 

George kept lightly stroking Viktor's face in what he hoped was a soothing, comforting manner. 

"You're okay. It was only a dream," George whispered. 

Viktor continued to stare at him, emotions playing across his face. Confusion, disbelief, annoyance, hope, longing, and what George thought might possibly be love. 

"Are you all right? I mean, I know that you're not all right—you were cursed and all and it was horrible, but are you hurt? I mean, physically?" 

Viktor shook his head, "No, only my mind is hurt, knowing what I did. I hurt someone… they made me…" George pressed a finger to Viktor's lips to silence him. 

"You want me to get you out of here? I mean, if you want to stay or need to be here or something then I don't want to push, but I know that if I were you, I'd want out. Deal with it all myself, without healers pouring noxious potions down my throat and hounding me about resting every bloody second." 

"Yes, please." That was all that George needed. He quickly gathered Viktor's belongings, tossing them onto the bed. Viktor shoved his feet in his boots, not bothering to lace them and shrugged into his robes without even removing the hospital provided pajamas and grabbed his wand. 

"Let's go." 

Suddenly they heard the bustling and unmistakable off-key whistling of Madam Pomfrey, who was back from her office to check on her patients. George glanced desperately around the curtained off area. There was nowhere to hide. Viktor looked crosser than ever. 

Just as the whistling reached the curtain and George could smell her, that cloying mix of potions and antiseptic and chocolate, a voice called out, distracting her. 

"Hello, sorry, Madam Pomfrey?" The footsteps retreated as she walked quickly to greet her newfound patient, shushing him soundly and warning him not to wake her other patients. 

George grinned as Fred launched into an earnest speech about how difficult the day had been, what with Harry being practically a brother and the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and how he just couldn't sleep and would she possibly be willing to give him something to help him relax or a Dreamless Sleep Draught to help him through this trying time. 

Madam Pomfrey, who always needed people to coddle in times of crisis, bought the story immediately and began clucking over Fred, the poor dear. She hurried off to grab a potion from the store room and George heard the tell-tale tongue click from Fred, indicating the coast was clear. 

George pulled Viktor with him, darting across the room and through the door. He shot Fred one last grateful look, getting a smirk and a wink in return, and disappeared just as Madam Pomfrey returned. 

*** ***

After the initial sprint out of the hospital wing area, George and Viktor walked in slow silence for a long time. Neither seemed to want to break the silence. Viktor finally spoke, 

"Why are you here, George?" 

"Here, as in this dimly lit Arithmancy hall at three in the morning?" Viktor simply stared at him expectantly, and, with a deep sigh, George continued more seriously, 

"I was a prat. You know what a stubborn arse I am. I… yeah," George ran a hand through his hair, feeling flustered and unsure, while Viktor watched him in that bloody unsettlingly expressionless way of his. 

"I was a total arse. But when I saw you come out of that overgrown maze of doom, all pale and dead-looking, well, I went all panicky and stupid. Fred had to drag me down from the stands so that I didn't completely freak out in front of everyone. Then you woke up and I was so relieved and then you looked so bad, so… hurt and upset, and my heart hurt. You know? I mean, like my chest went all twingey and tight and I couldn't breathe properly and all I wanted was to run out there and make sure you were all right and never, ever let go. 

"I didn't, obviously, because Pomfrey and Dumbledore and all the Professors were out there and looking after you and it all looked so grim, but I was a right mess. Fred calmed me down, and he said that I should go after you. He said that it wasn't a choice between him and you, and that I was being a bone-headed imbecile and that maybe you needed me or something. 

"And then Harry came back and the whole fucking world pretty much went to shite and it took me a while to figure it out, but even though everything is in a state of total madness and it's the start of another war that might kill us all… probably will, actually, what with the pathetic state of things… but the point isn't the whole we're all going to die bit, it's more the we're probably all going to die, but I can't be arsed to care, because I'm fucking in love, and it's making me all cheerful and stupid and I suddenly don't give a damn about anything else, including the newly risen Lord Moldy-Shorts and his death-eating minions and the pending apocalyptic evil and…"

Viktor cut off his babbling with a bruising kiss, pushing George up against the wall and snogging him with two months of pent up passion. Viktor finally breathlessly pulled away, leaning his forehead against George's and pressing his forearms against the wall behind them, trapping George, who was definitely not protesting. George let out a disbelieving gasp and started to say something, but Viktor just smirked at him and muttered, 

"You talk so much." George shrugged and offered a lopsided grin in response. "You talk so much, but all I hear is _I love you._ " 

George's ears went as red as his hair and he shrugged again, "Well, yeah, that was a key point, that and, you know, imminent war. But I can see how you'd fixate." 

"I love you too. I think you know this. I have for a long time. But George, in two days I will return to Bulgaria and this… I do not know what we can do," Viktor sighed and lifted a hand from the wall to stroke George's cheek, the calluses on his thumb scratching familiarly against George's skin. 

"You could stay here, stay in England, or Scotland, or wherever, but close by. We've got loads of Quidditch teams that would happily ditch their Seekers for a chance at Viktor Krum, and you could spend the summer with me and Fred and it would be loads of fun. You've never really met Fred, but he's the best, really." 

Viktor smiled sadly at him, tracing one of George's unruly red eyebrows with a finger. "I cannot stay here, George. I wish that I could, but I must go back home. Perhaps before all of this, I could have stayed. But now, with such a Dark Wizard rising, I must go home. I must convince my father to fight against this, and I must convince him before the other side does. And they will try. Sometimes he is blinded by power and ambition, and I worry that this Dark Lord will tempt him with these things." 

"You think You-Know-Who is going to try to recruit your dad?" 

"Yes. Not directly, of course. I do not think you understand just how powerful my father is or how much influence he holds in my country." 

"And you have to be the one to do this?" 

"There is no one else my father will listen to. He is very stubborn, like you," Viktor teased, still watching George with sad eyes. 

"Well, at least you've something to do. So far, my parents have told me to just sit back and do nothing like a good ickle boy," George said irritably, which made Viktor's mouth quirk into a typical Viktor almost-smile. 

"Yes, and we know that you are so good at doing exactly what you are told." 

"I don't even know what is going on—it's all been super hush-hush." 

"Maybe you are not meant to help them with their missions." 

"But I want to help! I can't just sit here and do nothing, knowing that that reborn bastard is out there, biding his time before he tries to take over the world again or whatever the hell his new evil plan is." 

"Perhaps you do not do nothing. Perhaps you do what you do best— invent things. Fake wands and sweets that turn you into a bird will probably not help here, but I think you could create things that will help." 

"Huh, inventions for the cause. I like it. That's actually a damn good idea. And Mum needn't know that we're making war-mongering, evil-eradicating stuff, you know, along with these brilliant new sweets that will give you a nosebleed just long enough to get out of class… Fred and I were just discussing them yesterday. They'll be brilliant, you'll see. I'll send you some." 

"I would like that." 

"I mean, you won't have classes to skive off of, but…"

"I would like that, George." 

"Right then. So two days, really? That's so little time." 

"You're George Weasley. You can fit more into two days than most people can fit into two weeks." 

George laughed and clutched Viktor closer to him. Forget two weeks. George had two months of missed opportunity to cram into the next two days and he was going to make every single second count. 

In two days, Viktor would leave, but George was determined that it would only be temporary. They had a war to fight and an undead psychopath to defeat, but George Weasley was not one to let such minor details get in the way of something he wanted. 

If he had to kill every single one of the Death Eaters and their evil, snake-eyed boss himself in order to get his bloody happily ever after, then that's what he'd do. And when they were done, he'd have Fred and he'd have Viktor and it would be all fucking rainbows and sunshine. 

He kissed Viktor almost violently and Viktor pushed back just as hard, with insistent lips and tongues and questing hands rememorizing every inch of each other's bodies. George poured all of his promises into Viktor with every touch, every kiss, every breath. 

It would all work out. It had to. He'd promised. And George Weasley never broke a promise. 

*Fin


End file.
